


Prometheus Rising

by White_Mizerable



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Fantasy, M/M, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Mizerable/pseuds/White_Mizerable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What makes a monster, and what makes a man? Arthur Kirkland, a recently disillusioned priest, unwillingly finds himself in the company of the inhuman Alfred. What begins as a simple journey to a nearby city quickly becomes a dangerous adventure that will lead them across the world and force them to examine the secrets buried behind faith, and to look deep into themselves and each other. Dark fantasy AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I write my notes at the end, just as future warning.

Prologue:

On the fourth day of the seventh month, in the midst of the worst storm the country had seen in years, a baby boy was born in the tiny village of Agrinas. His mother died only minutes after childbirth. She barely had the strength to look at her son, but when he opened big blue eyes to stare back at her, she managed a sincere, joyous smile. “My boy,” she whispered. “My little boy.” Her gaze met that of her husband one final time, and her smile grew, but also saddened. “Our little boy.”  
And then she was gone.

The father gathered his baby to his chest, looking down at the oddly silent child. “Our little boy,” he repeated gravely. The child grasped his finger and squeezed, and a toothless grin spread across that face. The man couldn’t help but smile back. “Our little boy.”

Though the father raised his son just the same as the other children in the village, the boy always seemed a bit strange. By the time he was six years old, he was just about five feet tall. At the age of twelve, he had already surpassed six feet. At first, this was nothing but helpful for the rest of the townsfolk. The smith had him pumping bellows, the old widow asked him to chop wood, the farmers requested his help in moving stubborn mules. His naturally strong body became even stronger, until he could actually lift the blacksmith’s anvil and carry it across town without once stopping to rest.

But of course, there came a time when the boy’s unnatural growth stopped being useful, and began to arouse suspicion among his fellows. On the eve of his fifteenth birthday, just as his height was about to reach seven feet, the boy was surrounded by a group of children his age. Though none of them were nearly as tall as he was, he shrank back from them. He was not an idiot. He knew what they were there for.

“Freak!”

“Demon!”

“Monster!”

The last one stuck, and they continued to jeer it at him as they drew closer and closer. He curled into himself as best he could, whispering pleas for them to stop. No one listened. The first thing to hit him was a rock, a smooth stone picked from the ground that glanced off his cheek. He cried out in pain, and as if that was the signal for them to continue, they all fell upon him. Blurred faces of his assailants flashed before his eyes. His body was being pummeled from all sides. His heartbeat rang in his ears.

When the villagers were finally drawn by the screams, they found the boy kneeling in the middle of the circle of children. His face was buried in his hands. His attackers lay sprawled around him, clutching at their heads and limbs, sobbing through their bloodied lips. As the villagers ran around him, gathering their injured children into their arms, the boy rocked back and forth, muffling his whimpers with his palms. Blood- blood that wasn’t his, the others had only managed to bruise him- stained his fingers. The shouting around him grew louder. One of the children was not moving or crying, no matter how much his wailing mother shook him.

The child was buried two days later. The boy and his father were not granted the right to attend the funeral.

“What am I?” the boy asked his father desperately.

The man gathered him as close as he could. “My son,” he whispered. “You’re my son.”

But the boy pulled away. “How can I be your son? Look at me!” He held out his hands. They were raw and sore, having been scrubbed clean over and over again, yet he could still see the bloodstains. “I’m a monster.”

The father simply shook his head, eyes wide and sad behind the glass of his spectacles, and gently grasped his son’s tattered hands, holding them close. That day, the two of them gathered up whatever belongings they could carry and disappeared into the woods. The villagers did not search for them, but every man, woman, and child kept a wary eye on the ever-shifting shadows at the forest’s edge.

Years passed, and there formed a cautious truce between the people of Agrinas and the family in the woods. That is, until two travelers ventured into the town. They claimed to have been sent there by the king himself. The boy- though he wasn’t really a boy anymore, he was a man- watched them from under the cover of the forest. They looked similar to the old priest, dressed in draping robes and wooden sandals, but the chains they wore around their necks were unfamiliar to him. The villagers welcomed them with open arms, and for a few days, all was peaceful.

It happened almost silently. Not even the closest town knew about what had transpired, until it was far too late. A wandering merchant, who had traveled that way many times before and who knew the people of Agrinas quite well, was the first to come across the remains of the town. He could barely speak of the horrors he saw there, among the fires and rubble and broken bodies, but his babbled account traveled quickly through the land.

Agrinas was destroyed. The dead littered the ground, shredded into so many pieces that you could no longer tell if the bodies had been human. What buildings still stood creaked and shuddered within the roaring flames that consumed them. The scent of decay smoldered in the air. And, on the other side of the inferno, a demon man, dripping with dark blood, stood and watched it all. His eyes, the merchant claimed, were black and stormy as thunderclouds, his teeth sharp as knives. He had stared at the merchant with fury etched into his very being, and the merchant had fled for his life.

Though the neighboring townsfolk came immediately to douse the fires and bury what remained of the dead, carrying their sharpest weapons against the monster the merchant had seen, the demon man was nowhere to be seen. No one dared to check the surrounding forest. Had they done so, they might have come across the gutted remains of a small cottage, and beside it a small grave on which was planted a single, delicate flower.

But the people of Agrinas were gone, and with them went the memories of the boy named Alfred.


	2. Chapter 1- The Age of Discovery

Chapter 1: 

"Damn it!” The door to the chapel slammed open, and out stormed a furious young priest. His sandals clunked against the solid wood floor, echoing down the hallway. As he went, he viciously pulled off the golden chain wrapped around his neck, scowling down at the sun pendant dangling from the end.

“Brother Kirkland!” Hurried footsteps chased him down the hallway, but he did not look back. “Brother Kirkland, if you do not turn around this instant, you will be banned from the Order! Do you understand me? Brother Kirkland!”

The priest stopped abruptly and whirled around, green eyes burning with anger. “I understand you perfectly. Ban me if you want! What do I care? I would leave even if you were not punishing me. This- This place, this thing-” He gestured wildly at the decorated molding of the walls around them. “It all makes me sick. I’m not- I cannot-” He let out a frustrated huff, but his glare didn’t lessen in power. “I am leaving. Don’t try to stop me.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode down the rest of the hallway and up the short flight of stairs. No footsteps followed him.

He threw the door to his small room open and moved immediately over to his bed, throwing the sun pendant onto the bedcovering. He knelt to dig underneath the bed for the only satchel he owned, kicking off his wooden sandals in the process. As he sat there, the rough leather in his hands, he found himself frowning at the pendant in front of him. The golden sun- not true gold, but copper, painted- glittered in the early morning sunlight shining through his small window. Its gleam was taunting him, mocking him, daring him to walk away from everything he knew. His hands tightened their hold on the satchel.

“I’m leaving,” he snarled at the pendant. It didn’t reply, but the gleam did not fade. Cursing, the priest grabbed it and shoved it into his satchel. He could still feel it there, watching him, but he pushed the thoughts aside and reached back under the bed to find his old day clothes, the ones he used to wear before he joined the priesthood. He hoped they would still fit. Frowning down at the shirt and tunic in his hands, he decided that it didn’t really matter. He would rather walk out of the Church in clothes too small, than in the robes of an order he no longer believed in. With that in mind, he set about unlacing his belt and tugging his robe over his head.

As the thick fabric pooled on the ground by his feet, there was a quiet knock on the door. The priest looked up from where he’d been gathering up his old shirt. “Toris,” he greeted, pulling the shirt over his head.

The other priest nodded slightly. “Arthur.” He hesitated, glancing back out towards the stairs. “Is it true? Are you leaving us?”

The priest- Arthur- finished pulling down his shirt. “Yes, I am. I can’t stay here any longer.”

“I see.” Toris watched as he slid the tunic on overtop. Though he said nothing more, the unspoken questions hovered in the air between them.

Arthur sighed, crouching back down to slip his nightshirt and spare breeches into the satchel. He made certain that they were covering the pendant at the bottom before searching for his old leather boots. “You were there, Toris. Did you not see what they were doing? Or do you simply not care about it?”

“I was there, yes,” Toris said slowly. His gaze slid pointedly away from Arthur, focusing on some indistinct point at the other side of the room. “And I did see.”

“Then it’s true. You don’t care.”

Toris shook his head. “That’s not entirely correct, Arthur. I do care, but I do not think I care about the same thing as you.”

“What happened to you, Toris?” Arthur asked, rising to his now boot-clad feet again, satchel in hand. “When we first met, you were a brilliant young scribe, always curious and questioning anything told to you. And then you changed.” He kept his gaze away from the other priest as well as he gathered up what few belongings were his and not the Church’s. “Now you are just like the rest of them- cold, vain, and willing to destroy for the sake of some god.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Toris countered. “This is what the Church does. We do what we have to in order to spread our message across the land. I thought you understood that.”

“Funny, I thought I did too. For these past five years, I thought I understood exactly what the Church was, exactly what it meant and what it stood for. It seems I was wrong.” Their eyes locked, sharp as blades. “I never realized how low they- how low you would stoop to spread your religion.”

Silence burned between them as Arthur hefted his satchel up onto his back. He stood there in the center of the room he had called his for years- the room he had thought he could spend the rest of his life in- and felt a cold tendril of regret spike through him. He could turn back. He could apologize, and swear never to question the Church or its teachings again, and he could once again be a member of this order. But he would not. Something in him refused to allow him to back down. Arthur took in a deep breath, staring fiercely at the man in his doorway. “Are you going to move aside, or will I have to force you?”

Toris raised his eyebrows. “Force me? I never thought you would threaten me, Arthur. Are we not friends?” He paused. “Then again, I never expected you to turn your back on the Church, either. Perhaps I don’t know you as well as I thought.” With a slight incline of his head, he stepped aside and gestured towards the stairs. “Please, don’t let me stop you from leaving.”

Arthur strode past him. For barely an instant, their eyes met, and in that moment Arthur saw the Toris he had met five years ago, the sweet and shy young man who had been his closest friend and constant companion. Arthur’s steps faltered. “Things really have changed, haven’t they?”

“Yes, they have.” And Arthur knew he was not imagining the wistfulness in Toris’ voice. “If this is really what you want, Arthur, I cannot support you in it. But I can wish you luck in whatever path you choose.”

“Thank you.” Arthur meant it. He turned and moved forward, away from the man who had once been his friend, away from the robes left wrinkled and dirty on the floor, away from his life, and towards an uncertain future.

The priests had gathered to watch him go. They lined the hallway, nearly identical in their draping robes and cowls, sun pendants dangling against the stark fabric. Arthur passed through the aisle they had left him, only just wide enough for him to fit. He felt their eyes, even hidden beneath their cowls, accusing him wordlessly, and he ignored them all. He held his chin high, refusing to look at any of the shadowed faces. Up ahead of him was the grand iron door that led out into the village. Once he stepped through that door, there would be no turning back.

As he drew nearer to it, Arthur heard the sound of wooden sandals clicking in the crowd, and turned his head to see the head priest approaching him. His hands were folded into his long sleeves. He regarded Arthur with an unreadable expression. “So you are truly leaving us, my son?”

“I am not your son,” Arthur said, as respectfully as possible. “But yes, I’m leaving.” His hand tightened almost imperceptibly around the strap of his satchel.

The head priest did not seem to notice. “I see. This is very disappointing, you must understand. You were one of our most promising disciples.” He frowned. “You had such greatness to look forward to.”

Arthur could not help but snort slightly. “Greatness? I fail to see anything great about staying in this order.”

A murmur of protest rose up in the crowd around them, but the head priest raised one hand to silence it. “That is dangerous speech, my son,” he said sternly. “Words such as those can come back to haunt you. Be careful what you choose to say.”

Arthur scowled. “Words? Believe me, I know about the power of words.” He shook his head in disgust, gesturing towards the chapel door. “I saw all the proof I needed of the power of words this morning.”

The head priest’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing. “What happened this morning was a perfect example of how to deal with dangerous words. It is our responsibility as the Church, as the guide for hundreds of people, to dispose of anything harmful to them.”

“Harmful to who? The people?” Arthur snorted again. “The people would not be harmed by those words! No one would, save for the Church itself. Destroying those-”

“This is why you are leaving?” the high priest interrupted, voice rising in volume. “Because you do not believe in one of the most basic and sacred duties of this Church?”

“Yes!” Arthur yelled back at him. “Yes! I am leaving because you burned those books!” His hands clenched into fists. “Do you have any idea of the knowledge you destroyed? Some of those books were older than any of us present. You’ve thrown aside the teachings of years and years of men. Do you not think that the people could have benefited from those?”

“No, they would not have! Those books were written by heretics, by men not of the faith. They were worth nothing!”

Arthur’s mouth opened and closed, but no words escaped. “You ignorant fool,” he finally managed. “Those books can never be replaced. You have destroyed far more than you can realize.”

“They were worth nothing,” the head priest repeated, eyes daring Arthur to argue again. Around them, the other priests had begun to gather closer, forming a threatening circle.

Arthur glared around at them, before directing his gaze back to the head priest. “Someday,” he snarled, low and pointed, “someday you will regret what you have done. Mark my words.” He turned, shoving through the priests standing between him and the door, pressing his full weight against it in order to force it open. Sunlight shone onto the gathering of priests, making their robes appear almost pure white. Arthur spared them once last glance. Far in the back, towards the stairs, stood one man with his hood down, brown hair brushing against his shoulders. Toris met his eyes and raised his hand in farewell.

It was final. Arthur turned away from the assembled priests, away from the great hall, and stepped out into the world.

**

Word traveled fast, and by the time evening fell, Arthur could find no lodgings for the night. Every inn he tried turned him away, some with harsh looks, others with harsher words. Arthur did not bother trying to fight with them. He had made his choice, and they had made theirs.

Darkness settled around him as he made his way down the streets of Lamglen. The sky was cloudy that night, and the only light shone from various torches set here and there along the walls of buildings. A few men hurried past him, back towards their homes and families. The wooden wall surrounding the village loomed up before him. He was approaching the edge of Lamglen, and the beginning of the forest.

Arthur drew to a halt just before the gate. He ignored the gatekeeper’s accusing stare, and instead focused up at the flimsy wooden structure- the only thing standing between him and the unknown. He shifted the weight of his satchel slightly. Lamglen was no longer a friendly home to him, but he could not help the feelings of trepidation that bloomed within him at the thought of what waited beyond the gate. The forest was a vast, dark, mysterious place, full of the demons of yore. He had heard hundreds of tales of men venturing into the forest and straying just slightly off the path. Those men were never seen again. And now that he was no longer a member of the Church, and he no longer had the divine protection of the Great One, he was just as prone to those misfortunes as any other man. His thoughts flickered back to the pendant in his bag, but he forced them away.

“Well?” the gatekeeper snapped, forcing him from his musings. “Are you going to leave or what?”

Arthur scowled at him. “Open the gate.”

“Of course, sir.” With a mocking bow, the gatekeeper shuffled forward and unlatched the gate’s heavy iron bolt. It slid aside with a muffled thud. The gatekeeper pressed both hands against the old wood and shoved it open.

There it was. Barely thirty feet from the walls of Lamglen, the forest rose up like some wild beast into the dark sky. Arthur could make out the faint silhouettes of twisted trees, of thorny underbrush. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he almost believed he could see the moving shapes of beasts, the creatures of the night. The fear rose up once again in his stomach.

“Well, be off with you, then!” the gatekeeper demanded after a moment. Arthur was pleased to hear the same fear in the man’s voice. “I can’t keep this gate open all night.”

“Of course not.” Arthur hefted his satchel more securely over his shoulder and, after only a mere second of hesitation, moved forward. In two steps, he was level with the gatekeeper. Their gazes connected, sharing their fear, and the gatekeeper nodded. Another two steps, and Arthur was level with the gate, standing on the very edge of Lamglen, at the brink of the wild. And he stepped forward again, and again, until he heard the gate begin to creak closed behind him. He did not turn around, for he knew that if he did, he would run back inside like a dog with its tail between its legs and beg for forgiveness. The heavy thud of the iron bolt locking into place rang through his ears.

He was alone.

Arthur stood there for several long minutes, allowing the night winds to tug and curl around his clothes and hair. The dark silhouette of the forest- only the forest, for giving it a name would only make it more frightening- beckoned to him. Some unknown beast howled in the distance. Arthur took in a deep breath, closing his eyes as he exhaled, and began to walk. He made certain to keep his feet within the boundaries of the dirt path even before he passed beneath the first boughs. The men who kept to the track were those who survived the journey.

He slowly entered into the darkness of the woods. The forest’s long branches almost seemed to reach out in a twisted welcome, enveloping him in a black embrace. A violent shudder rolled down his spine, and for the first time, he turned to look back over his shoulder. Lamglen stood peacefully behind him, lit by the small pockets of warmth given off by its torches. Arthur swallowed heavily and faced forward once again. There was no going back.

As he moved forward, the forest grew ever more thick around him. Not even the tiny gleam of light from the cloud-covered moon managed to pierce the heavy boughs. Leaves rustled in the darkness, and the soft footsteps of invisible creatures seemed to echo through the tree trunks. Arthur’s grip tightened around the strap of his satchel. Every few steps, he peered downwards to make sure he was still on the path. The further he walked into the woods, the harder it became to tell. He did not know how long he had been walking, or how far he had gone. He could no longer see Lamglen behind him. In the crushing dark of the forest, everything looked the same. His heart beat wildly in his chest, his eyes scanning for something that he could not see.

A twig snapped beneath his foot, and Arthur jumped, bringing his fists up protectively in front of him. He panted heavily, swinging around in the darkness, looking for anything to defend himself from. He could see nothing. Around him, the forest had not ceased its rustlings. Letting out a nervous laugh, Arthur dropped his hands back to his sides. “Arthur, you fool, there is nothing there,” he murmured to himself. At the sound of his voice, the forest seemed to still. The slow padding of paws vanished. The rustling of the trees dimmed in volume. The darkness pressed in even closer to him. Arthur’s whole body trembled in the sudden quiet. “Nothing there,” he whispered again. “There’s nothing there.” The mantra rolled off his tongue again and again, so low he could barely hear it himself, and the forest grew silent to listen.

Focusing on the sound of his own voice and breath, Arthur peered down at the forest floor again. It was too dark to tell if the path remained beneath his feet. His breath hitched in his throat, and casting a long, wary look at the silent woods around him, he crouched slightly for a closer look.

Far up above him in the night sky, the clouds parted around the moon, and silvery light pierced through the forest. Dark leaves glowed, tree trunks were veined with grey bark, hundreds of eyes glittered in the black shadows. Arthur saw none of that, for his gaze was locked onto the ground before him. There was no path to be seen. His shaking hands reached out to brush aside the covering of leaves and underbrush, but all he found were mushrooms and worms. He had stepped off the path.

Time seemed to still. Arthur could feel the gaze of creatures he could not see, could hear nothing but his own heartbeat. He stumbled back to his feet, eyes wild, and ran through the trees, desperately searching for the dirt road. He could not have stepped so far off of it. It was impossible. But no matter how hard he looked, turning over every fallen branch, sweeping aside every bush, kicking at every pile of leaves, he could find nothing. He had stepped off the path, and he was destined to become another one of those horror stories told to children who ventured too close to the forest’s edge.

As he stood there staring at the ground, chest tight and heart pounding, he heard a very slight rustle in the trees behind him. He barely noticed it at first, and then it came again. It was only the slightest sound, a crunch of leaves beneath a foot. It came again. He slowly raised his head, eyes wide with fear. “There’s nothing there,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. The rest of the forest remained silent, and the rustle came again. Cold breath rattled against the back of his neck.

Even as his mind screamed not to, his body turned. The moonlight, though fading quickly, still cast enough of a glow to illuminate the creature before him. It stood far taller than Arthur, perhaps twice his height. It was humanoid, and nothing at all like a human. The creature’s arms remained bathed in shadow, yet they appeared long and spindly, holding up an equally slender body and shorter legs. But Arthur could not look away from its face. It was empty, blank of anything but a smooth expanse of white flesh stretched tightly over a skull.

Arthur’s mouth fell open. Somewhere in the darkness, he could hear a human voice screaming. It might have been his, but he could not tell. His body would not move, and all he could see was that pale face.

Tendrils of shadow writhed in the creature’s arms, breaking through its skin and coiling through the air. They wound themselves around Arthur’s unmoving arms and legs, lifting him up off the ground, letting him dangle as the pale head drew closer to his own face. Arthur knew he was screaming now, over and over again, as his throat burned and his breath stuttered. And as the moon slid once again behind the cover of clouds, and he was left alone in the pure darkness with a monster he could not see, he felt a warm tear roll down his cheek. The monster’s breath rattled in his face. He shut his eyes.

Something flew past his ear, and suddenly Arthur was falling back to the ground. He landed heavily on his back, eyes flying open as he gasped for breath.

The monster was burning. An arrow, long-shafted and fletched in simple brown feathers, protruded from both ends of its skull, the tip still dripping with flames. The tendrils that had been holding Arthur aloft were sliding along the pale face, running over the arrow, seemingly not affected by the fire. Arthur scrambled back along the ground, not daring to remove his gaze from the creature. His back came into contact with something hard, and he glanced briefly over his shoulder, expecting to see a tree.

Instead, his eyes found a leg, and then another, and traveled upwards to see hips and chest and shoulders and face. It was a man, wreathed in the flickering light of the burning monster. He glanced down at Arthur for only a moment as he fitted another arrow to his string. “Stay down.”

In that brief second, Arthur found himself staring at eyes as black as the night itself.


	3. Chapter 2- The Reluctant Warrior

Chapter 2:

For one long moment, Arthur sat unmoving, his gaze locked on the man at his back. The ever-changing glow of the flames cast strange shadows across his body and face, over the curved wooden bow in his hands and the quiver strung across his back. But the memory of those dark, dark eyes flashed through Arthur’s mind again, and he pushed himself away from the new man’s leg, away from the burning monster, to the edges of the fire’s light.

He looked between the two of them, the black-eyed man with the longbow and the pale faceless monster. Neither moved, the only sound Arthur’s own breathing and the crackle of the flames. His thoughts leapt back to the pendant in his satchel- it was protection, a shield against the two inhuman beings before him, but his arms refused to search for it. His heart pounded in the stillness.

They both moved at once. The dark man’s arms swung upwards, drawing the bow taut in one smooth movement. The pale beast galloped forwards on its slender arms. The arrow flew, piercing the monster’s body in a pulse of thick blood, just as shadowy tendrils burst forward to wind around the man’s arms. They tumbled to the ground, dirt flying up around their struggling forms. The fire still burning across the monster’s head and back ate at the man’s sleeves. The two beings rolled across the forest floor, moving towards Arthur’s numb body. He scrambled backwards, fingers slipping against the dirt and leaves, until one arm slid out from underneath him and he fell onto his back. Without thinking, he pushed himself upwards, onto his feet, and staggered as his muscles thrummed with fear.

Two faces, one dark, one white, turned to stare at him, stark in the light of the flames. The black-eyed man’s gaze narrowed, mouth twisting as it opened to roar, “What are you doing? Stay down!”

But it was already too late. In that instant that the man was distracted, the pale creature wound its tendrils around his body and threw him aside. He shot through the air, crashing into a tree several feet away. The trunk shattered down the center. Heavy tree limbs fell to the ground, spindly branches tearing through the undergrowth, bark raining down around their broken forms. The man was enveloped by the shadows, hidden from any stray beams of moonlight or the dying flames.

The rustle of leaves drew Arthur’s eyes and mind back to the other creature, but its pale body no longer lay where he expected. He twisted around, staring through the darkness, seeing nothing. Whatever fire had burned across the monster’s back had been snuffed out. The rustling sound continued, the slow sweep of spindly limbs.

Arthur spun again, eyes wild, and there it was. That faceless head lowered itself to his height, neck stretching downwards until he was staring at the empty flesh where eyes should have been. The tendrils in the creature’s arms twisted out, a slow, hypnotic swirl as they slipped across Arthur’s body. His breath stuttered in his throat. He forced his feet back, pulling away, but his motions were sluggish and heavy, as though he was moving through deep water. The monster came ever closer. Its head seemed to grow in his vision, the white expanse shifting further and further outwards until it was all he could see, marred only by the arrow shaft still protruding from its forehead. Stale breath washed over his face, and though he could see no mouth engraved into the creature’s skin, he was struck by the sudden knowledge that he was going to be eaten.

“No,” he whispered. A prayer started to form on his lips, something he had learned in his service to the Church, but it died in the presence of the demon before him. Any other words escaped him as he felt his arms being bound to his sides. His lips kept pleading, “No, no, no.”

There came a sound like two bones grinding against each other, and suddenly the monster’s face was no longer blank, but a white canvas in the middle of which was growing a dark hole. The skin seemed to part around it as it widened, cracking and peeling away. The faint breaths of before were now deep, rattling through the creature’s thin frame, out from that toothless hole. The noise overtook Arthur’s senses, drawing him into the inky black.

He did not hear the roar that burst forth from behind the monster. He did not see the blur of leather and cloth that leapt forwards. He only began to feel the world around him once again as he fell, released from the monster’s tendrils into the air. In his muddled mind, he could not even remember being lifted off the ground. The moon, hidden somewhat by leaves and wisps of cloud, shone down on him as he fell, illuminating the monster and the strange man as they grappled.

Arthur did not react in time to catch himself on his feet. His legs gave way beneath him, his body crumpling backwards until it struck the base of a tree trunk. Pain shot through his skull as the back of his head collided with rough bark. His gaze went black for a moment, before fading into a vague sort of focus. Laying there in the dirt and leaves, body crumpled, he stared up at the scene ahead of him, all shining faintly in the moonlight.

The dark-eyed man struggled against the shadow tendrils wound around his torso, one arm disappearing down into the monster’s mouth. His lips were twisted in a sneer of pain and fury, his free hand digging into the pale skin of the monster’s face. The monster itself shuffled backwards a step, then sideways, attempting to keep its balance against the apparent strength of its opponent. A long-bladed hunting knife protruded from the top of the creature’s spine, directly below its skull. Thick blood pooled out around it, dripping down the monster’s thin limbs, along the man’s breeches, collecting in a dark puddle beneath them. Dirt swirled up around them.

What remained of Arthur’s sight slowly began to slip away. His body felt heavy and lifeless, even as his conscious mind begged him to panic at being so close to a battle of two inhuman creatures. The moonlight was fading, the shadowy figures before him becoming immersed in the darkness around them. The roots beneath him softened and spread. Everything melded together into one thick cloak of black, and Arthur’s eyes slid shut.

After that, he could only recall flashes of vision, brief memories of sight. There were eyes, he knew- not black, but blue, blue as the midday sky. The sky itself was there as well, but it did not hold the same vibrancy as those eyes. They were situated in a face, one that Arthur could not seem to focus on, yet he had heard words being spoken by lips, words that he could not understand. There was feeling as well, the faint touch of fingers and hands. All of it was vague, soft, and Arthur wondered fleetingly if it was only a dream.

Arthur shifted sideways, his body coming into contact with something hard and unyielding. His eyes slid open to see a length of coarse root. So his memories had not been dreams after all. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought back. There had been the forest, that monster. That man.

The faintest crunch of leaves beneath a booted foot alerted him to the presence of another, and he rolled into a defensive crouch. His eyes found the form of a man- the man from before. He stood several feet away, silent and still, his hands clenched around the wood of his longbow. Even from that distance, Arthur could see that the man was far taller than himself, perhaps a full head or more. Shadow cast by his messy hair and strong brow shielded his eyes from Arthur’s gaze. They stood there for a long moment, quiet save for birdcalls and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

“I have heard the stories,” Arthur said finally, not moving from his crouch. His voice remained remarkably firm for how rapidly his heart was beating. “The demon man from the west, silent as the grave as he walks from one end of the kingdom to the other. He always remains hidden in the wild, never appearing too close to civilization, but the mere sight of him is enough to send even the bravest of warriors running. Tall as a sapling, strong as a bear, untamable as the wind.” He paused. “It looks as though most of the tales are true.”

The man’s strong jaw, dotted with stubble, clenched, and he moved away, circling around Arthur without turning his back. His boots made only the smallest hint of a sound as they struck the ground. Arthur watched him, still crouched low, the posture of a wary cat in the presence of a much larger predator. The man did not stop until he had reached a small fire that Arthur hadn’t noticed before. He knelt down in front of it, setting his bow down after another cautious glance at Arthur, and reached down to his belt as though searching for something.

“Well?” Arthur said after a minute. His heartbeat was beginning to slow as the demon man showed no sign of aggression, but he found himself feeling annoyed at the lack of response. “Aren’t you going to kill and eat me?”

The man let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Are you a rabbit?” His voice was deep and hoarse, as though it had not been used in a while.

Arthur scowled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you a rabbit?” the man asked again. The gloved hand that had been feeling around his belt reemerged into Arthur’s view, this time holding a rough loop of rope onto which were strung three rabbits. He shook them, staring at Arthur out of the corner of his eyes. “I’m eating rabbit today. Unless you are one, I doubt you taste as good.”

The attempt at a joke stupefied Arthur. “Are you trying to be funny?” he demanded. “I wasn’t aware demons had a sense of humor!”

All traces of humor vanished from the man’s face, and he fell silent once again. As Arthur watched, he drew a long hunting knife from its sheath on his belt, setting to the task of skinning the rabbits he’d caught. Arthur slowly uncurled from his crouch. “That’s the knife with which you killed that beast last night.”

The man paused in his work, glancing up at Arthur before turning back to the blade. “Yes.”

Arthur frowned and crossed his arms. For a demon, this man was rather disappointing. Arthur knew the stories by heart, the tales of monsters and devils and beasts that lurked in the wilderness. They were the enemies of humanity, creatures who took pleasure in killing men and women, who destroyed homes and devoured innocents. They did not build fires, catch rabbits, or make jokes, and they certainly did not save humans from other demons. But even though he had turned his back on the Church, he remembered their warnings- monsters could be cunning. The demon man before him was merely waiting for him to relax, and then he would attack, Arthur was sure of it.

His thoughts turned once again to the pendant settled in the bottom of his satchel, and he looked around at the area to see if it was still within his reach, or if the demon man had done away with it. He found the satchel almost immediately, resting against the side of the tree he had been laying beneath when he woke. He edged towards it, keeping a wary eye on the man by the fire. “That creature last night,” he said, his voice tight but casual. “What was it?”

The man did not halt in his task this time, though his gaze lifted to follow Arthur’s backwards steps towards the tree. He made no move to snatch up his longbow. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I have been hunting it for days, but it was unlike any beast I’ve ever seen before.”

“Hunting it?” Arthur bent down to lift the satchel onto his shoulder, his hand sliding inside to feel for the pendant. “I’ve never heard of demons preying on one another.”

“It was attacking children,” the man said. The firm strokes of his knife slowed somewhat. “Every night, I would hear them scream- children, women, any weak, defenseless creature it came upon. Yet it always managed to escape before I could find and kill it.” His gaze slid over to Arthur. “You were lucky last night. I was close enough to stop it from devouring you.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, even as his fingers closed around the golden sun. “Do you truly expect me to believe that you killed that monster out of the good of your heart? You’re a demon- you have no heart, not the way a human does. You did save me last night, but for what? To eat me yourself?” He pulled the pendant out into the open, thrusting it towards the demon man, letting the sunlight glint off its golden surface. “Think again, devil!”

The man’s hands slowed to a stop. His eyes moved back and forth between the pendant and Arthur’s face. “What are you going to do with that?”

His voice held no fear, only bemusement, and Arthur felt his courage falter. Still, he stepped forward, again and again until he was merely two feet from the demon. “Are you not afraid? This is the symbol of the Sky God! The symbol of the one who strikes down even the mightiest of your kind!” He shook it in the man’s face, his voice rising as his heart beat a frantic rhythm in his chest. “The very touch of this pendant to your flesh will burn you!”

Silence reigned between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the faint rattle of the pendant’s chain as Arthur willed his fingers not to shake. The demon man did not move, did not recoil or flee in terror, merely stared at the gleaming golden sun held before his eyes. The fire beside them crackled, and Arthur startled even himself with his sudden movement, thrusting his arm forward until the pendant struck the demon man’s forehead. The man did start back this time, eyes wide, but there was no sizzle of flesh at the contact, no scream of pain as he was destroyed by the power of the Sky God. There was only the faint clunk of copper meeting skin.

They stared at each other over the rays of the pendant, waiting for something, some sort of godly power, to appear, and in that moment it struck Arthur that the man’s eyes were blue. It was not a natural, human blue- it was the blue of the skies, tinted by stormy gray clouds. They drew him in, inviting him to become lost in their vibrant expanse, but Arthur forced his gaze away with a shudder. It was a trick, another trap.

Nothing happened. Birds continued to sing from the trees, the fire danced its way across the sticks on which it burned, the pendant’s gold paint glimmered in the sunlight. The demon man remained frozen in his position, leaning back and away from Arthur, brilliant eyes wide and wary.

The pendant slipped from Arthur’s hands, landing upon the ground in a gentle cloud of dirt. He stared down at it. So he had nothing. His only means of protection, the one connection he still maintained to the life he’d left behind, was powerless. He stood alone in the woods, accompanied only by a demon, and even the Sky God had turned away from him. “You might as well kill me now,” he told the demon man, closing his eyes in acceptance of his fate. “I have no way to defend myself.”

He heard what almost sounded like a snort of irritation, and he glanced up, confused, to see that the demon man had moved himself silently to the other side of the fire, keeping the tiny flame as a barrier between them. “I told you,” the man said, his voice even more cautious than before, but tinged with annoyance. “I’m not going to kill you or eat you.”

Arthur stared, fear and weariness and anger and every other emotion he had kept so carefully contained bursting through the surface as he yelled, “What kind of demon are you? Why won’t you- You’re supposed to want to eat me! You’re supposed to be wicked, to hate humans! Why-?” The words choked off in his throat as he found himself once again the subject of that blue gaze.

“Do you want me to eat you?” the demon man asked, and there was a curiosity in his words that reminded Arthur of a young boy.

“No.” It came out as a whisper, defeated and weak. Arthur allowed himself to fall to his knees, his eyes seeking and finding the fallen pendant before him. Reflections of flame danced across its surface. The demon man said nothing more, and Arthur heard the sound of the hunting knife sliding through rabbit flesh once again, but he paid it no heed. He lifted the pendant into his hands once more, cradling it within the cup of his palms.

It was useless, simply a trinket wasting space in his satchel. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the smoothness of the gold paint against his fingers, and paused when he saw a faint vein of copper, barely noticeable, cutting through its sheen. It was a scratch, likely from having been dropped to the ground. He ran his thumb across it. There was a roughness to that slight mar that felt out of place upon such a perfect surface.

Arthur lifted his eyes to cast another look at the demon man, still cutting at the rabbits, before letting them slip closed as he thought. He was alone in a world that he had never experienced. Everything that he had been taught… None of it seemed to matter out here, beyond the walls of the Church. There were so many questions left unanswered, questions he needed to understand. He could not go back to Lamglen to find the answers, no, but he could keep moving forward. There were still other places he could journey to in order to find out what he now needed to know. His hands tightened around the pendant, ignoring the way its rays dug into his flesh. It was useless in the way of protection, now that he had shunned the graces of its god, but perhaps it could help him find the answers to the questions it had helped bring about.

“Demon,” Arthur said slowly, meeting the man’s gaze across the fire, “which way is it to Almsloch?” His mind was already beginning to form plans.

“Almsloch?” The demon man frowned. “It is days away from here. The road is dangerous, particularly for the unarmed. It’s a fool’s journey to walk it alone.”

Arthur scoffed, feeling more like himself now that he had a goal in mind, and was not quite as worried about being eaten. “Your concern is touching, demon, but I was not asking for your opinion. Simply point me towards the road and go back to your ways.”

The man’s frown deepened. “You’ll be killed.”

“Perhaps the idea of being helpful is lost on your kind,” Arthur sneered, lifting himself to his feet. “If you won’t guide me in the right direction, I will find my own way.”

The demon man was silent for a moment. “Almsloch is north of here, five days walk through the forest, seven if you follow the road. The forest route will take you into the heart of the wood.” He paused, running one gloved finger down the side of his knife. “The creature from last night was a rabbit compared to what can be found in that dark place.”

Arthur shivered at the recollection of that pale face. “Then I will take the road.”

“It’s dangerous as well. You must have heard the stories of people disappearing off the path.”

“Then what do you suggest I do, demon?”

The man stared at him, eyes boring into Arthur’s face. “Go back to Lamglen. The pale monster is gone. You’ll be safer there.”

“That is not an option.” Arthur crossed his arms. “I am never going back there. Show me the way to the road and I will leave you be.”

“You’ll die!”

“If you won’t send me off in the right direction, yes, I certainly will. Now the choice is yours. Show me to the road and give me the chance to survive, or allow me to wander through the forest, alone, and be eaten by one of your fellows.”

The demon man’s eyes clouded, swirling from blue to grey, and his voice was fierce with anger as he demanded, “Sit down.”

Arthur scowled. “What? You have no right to command me to do anything-”

“You said you want to survive,” the demon interrupted. “I am going to make sure you do. Sit down.” When Arthur refused to move, the man bared his teeth- all sharp, pointed- in a frustrated snarl. “I am going to cook these rabbits, and you are going to eat some, unless you would rather die of hunger, and then I am going to lead you to Almsloch as safely as I can.”

Arthur hesitated, the fear that had been ebbing away returning to pulse in his heart. “You’re a demon,” he said slowly. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

The clouds within the man’s eyes slid away, revealing a tired pale blue. “You don’t.” His hands returned to the deft work of skinning the final rabbit. “I am a demon, a monster. I know. But I saved you once, and I have no intention of letting you die when I can stop it. Now, sit down.” There was no more command in the words, simply resignation.

Finally, Arthur obeyed, taking his seat on the far side of the fire and watching as the skin was peeled off of the last rabbit. It was not the most optimal turn of events, to have to travel with some inhuman stranger, but he could not deny the truth in the other’s words. The demon had saved him once, and he would at least provide the protection that Arthur lacked. “Very well,” he said. “You may guide me to Almsloch. But I don’t trust you.”

“Good,” said the demon man. “I don’t trust you either.”

Silence fell between them again, as the rabbits were speared on a stick and roasted above the open flame. The demon man ate like a beast, teeth tearing into the rabbit flesh, uncaring of the mess on his face or fingers. Arthur was forced to avert his eyes so as not to lose his appetite.

It was only after they were both finished, the bones tossed aside and the fire buried, that Arthur spoke again. “Do you have a name?” he asked, careful to keep a safe distance between him and the demon.

The man stared at him. “A name?”

“Yes.” The question seemed suddenly foolish, and he cursed himself for speaking it aloud. “I suppose demons don’t have proper names like humans do. I simply thought it would be nice to have something to call you, other than demon.”

“No, I have a name.” The demon man hesitated a moment, as if trying to remember, as if he had forgotten. “My name… It’s Alfred. Alfred Jones.”

Arthur frowned. “A human name?”

The man- Alfred’s lips twisted downwards in a pained grimace. “Yes.”

“How odd.” Arthur shifted his satchel, glancing away into the woods before opening his lips to speak again. “Well, my name is Arthur Kirkland.” Alfred nodded, but there was nothing more to say between them.

The golden sun pendant and its chain lay heavily inside Arthur’s satchel. The one scratch marring its surface remained buried amongst his clothes, hidden away from sight.


End file.
